Carrie L. Larson: Rooted and Unmoored

the fade

 

harvest box, paint, stretched Japanese paper and pulp paper, dried hydrangea blossoms, poem

 

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As introduction, let me offer words from the essay, “Better Speak,” by Hank Willis Thomas:

 

 

 

… I encountered Audre Lorde’s “Litany for Survival.” The last few lines are emblazoned on my soul:

 

 

 

and when we speak we are afraid

our words will not be heard

nor welcomed

but when we are silent

we are still afraid

 

 

 

So it is better to speak

remembering

we were never meant to survive.

 

 

 

“Better to speak!” echoes in my mind whenever I feel like shriveling up and hiding in the corner rather than being exposed or critiqued. There is sheer audacity required to write words for a broader audience, even more to get up and read those words aloud. I feel the same is true for contemporary visual artists. To speak is almost to say “I know,” but in most cases artists are speaking about things they don’t know, or are still in the process of knowing. I feel like poetry is at its best when it speaks to the process of knowing, dangling on your heart right before it gets to your mind.

 

There is sheer audacity required to put one’s work—words or marks—out for view and review. What the artist makes reveals that very process of unearthing some glimmer of knowledge or understanding. Sometimes that view appears sublime. Other times it reveals a raw wound.

 

Rooted and Unmoored presents a range of views in the consideration of place. The process began during a residency at

Sitka Center for Art & Ecology, near Otis on the Oregon Coast. While there I immersed myself in that physical place, a landscape

not dissimilar to Grays Harbor, which is the place that I call home. For six weeks I found myself uprooted yet grounded, and shaped ideas that reflected the view around me—from the cathedral of spruce forest to the dappled greens of an alder grove to the infinite shades of blue and gray reflected by river and ocean.

 

After returning home I continued to look with fresh eyes, in order to translate the familiar into visual language. A favorite walk takes me to the confluence of the Hoquiam River and the Chehalis, and turning west reveals the Harbor’s wide mouth, attuned to the sky. This horizon line, and the space above and below, with its shapes, colors, and textures, provides ample inspiration.

 

For me, looking outward required the balance of looking within, to reflect upon one’s internal “place.” This process mined memories, observations, and imaginings that I’d been recording in written form over the years. It also took into consideration the deep influence that reading holds over me. The Box Poem series develops such narratives.

 

While I still shy away from the sheer audacity required to speak, I remain compelled to do so. I hope that these works will—

like well-crafted poems—dangle upon your heart, and linger on your mind.

 

C. Larson

 

September, 2013

 

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artist statement

 

In my art-making as a whole—even in its most abstracted forms—a sense of place is often at the root of the work. Perhaps a particular piece evokes the natural beauty of the physical landscape. Perhaps it reflects on the emotional landscape of literature. Or it may speak to a mental place, a state of mind.

 

 

I look for form to follow concept. I strive to shape a meaningful experience for the viewer. And my love for the written word means that the textual elements in my work are not secondary. I am drawn to processes and materials that invite touch, that celebrate the tactile qualities that encourage us to connect with one another. This seems a lovely counterweight to our rushed, mass-produced, twittering world.

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artist biography

 

Carrie L. Larson, born in Bellingham, Washington, moved throughout the Northwest during her childhood, until settling in Aberdeen with her family. There she graduated from JM Weatherwax High School, then moved to Walla Walla, earning a Bachelor of Arts degree in 1993 from Whitman College, where she was privileged to study art under Keiko Hara.

 

Since then she has practiced her calling—most recently in a chaotic home studio—sending her artwork out to juried shows throughout the region, including venues as far away as Chicago and Denver. One of her artist’s books, Red, Revisited, was included in Lark Crafts recent publication, 500 Handmade Books, Volume 2, juried by Julie Chen.

 

Carrie, along with husband John, currently calls Hoquiam home. There she is quietly active in her community, does freelance work as a color consultant and occasional floral designer, and operates a 5x8 Craftsmen letterpress under the concinnity press imprint. She is also responsible for a well-worn library card and a garden filled mostly with weeds and good intentions.

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I am deeply indebted to so many who have supported my path—

 

To list everyone by name might require several volumes.

 

For now, let me offer deep gratitude to a handful:

 

 

 

to the college library crew, particularly Valerie, Sarah & Stan;

 

to Miss Swartz, 3rd grade teacher at Selah Elementary in 1979,

who set the foundation;

 

to my mentor, Keiko Hara, who challenged her students

while modeling artistic discipline and dedication;

 

to Ron Westman, gentle critic and epic storyteller;

 

to Paul Hunter, for graciously allowing me to borrow

his beautiful words for my own ends;

 

to Artist Trust for resources, and the skills that led to courage;

 

to the folks of Sitka Center, whose generosity renewed my spirit;

 

and to those grounding me at home—

my rock, John, and the gray cats, who like to investigate

works in progress.

 

 

 

Thank you.

 

Done